


All the World's a Stage

by unveiled



Series: Snippets [1]
Category: Inception (2010), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-09
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unveiled/pseuds/unveiled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames meets Professor Xavier. Set in the same universe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/237107">Every Piece of You</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the World's a Stage

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really not writing an actual sequel for "Every Piece of You", but I couldn't help thinking about telepathy in a universe with dream-sharing technology and so this scene was born.

When he opened his eyes again, he was looking up at blue.

Eames eased himself up, the heels of his hands digging into soft grass and earth. Tall hedges of bramble bushes, the same lush green as the grass, surrounded his little oasis in a circle. A veritable fairytale labyrinth, hiding a sleeping princess within -- which, he supposed, made him the princess. Blood-red roses bloomed thickly within the shelter of the thorns, their petals drifting slow and gentle to the ground. He reached down and plucked one of the poppies that grew among the grass: red, but it faded into white in his hand.

At the exact centre of the circle was raised pool, its stone walls overgrown with moss. The water within it was perfectly clear, though, and still. Eames stared at the mosaic at the bottom of the pool, tilting his head. There was a pattern hidden within the mosaic tiles, he was sure of it, like an optical illusion.

"Hello," said Dr. Charles Xavier.

Eames bowed to him, mock-courtly, and presented the poppy flower. "It's a beautiful garden," he said. "I'm also quite sure this isn't the dream I constructed."

Xavier smiled, tucking the flower into a buttonhole. He was young here, younger even than the version Eames saw in Magneto's dream, dressed in a tweed jacket that went out of style half a century ago. There was softness to his eyes Eames hadn't remembered seeing in the flesh -- probably no one did, anymore.

"Well, Mr. Eames," Xavier said, "you're assuming you're still the dreamer. And that this is in fact a dream."

Eames went cold, then steel-sharp under the shiver he couldn't help betraying.

Xavier sighed. "I won't harm you."

"You'll forgive me for saying so, Dr. Xavier, but in my line of work I've learned not to take reassurances at face value."

"Of course." Xavier sat down at the edge of the pool, dipping the tips of his fingers into the water. "This is the first time you've ever dream-shared with a telepath, is it not?"

Eames rocked back on his heels, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "As far as I know, I'm the first person to have ever used dream-sharing technology on _any_ telepath."

"It's a novel experience, from my perspective," Xavier mused, clinical and distant. "While my mind accepts my perception of you and this place as real, I can also sense your sleeping mind next to my physical body. It's rather like having double vision where both of the things one sees are real, for a given value of reality."

" _Are_ we in a dream?"

"Yes, but not in yours." Whatever it was that Xavier saw on his face, it made the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. "I don't make it a habit to let people into my head, Mr. Eames, but I am even less likely to allow myself to linger in someone else's consciousness. I pulled us out of your dream and into mine."

Eames looked around again, making a show of it. "It's not a bad construction, for someone untrained."

Xavier laughed and held out his hand towards Eames. "I've been training my mind before _you_ were born."

Eames hesitated, then grasped Xavier's hand. It was warm and pliant in his grip, and surprisingly strong.

"Trust me," Xavier said, then toppled backwards into the pool, dragging Eames with him into the cold, watery depths.

*****

They're sitting in Xavier's study, separated by the vast, polished expanse of Xavier's desk. A vase of irises and pale yellow lilies sat in one corner, their mingled scent drifting into Eames' nose with every breath. Xavier was looking down at a sheaf of papers on the desk, the words on the page curling and uncurling into nonsense shapes. He was his true age again, deep lines carved into the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"You said you won't allow yourself to linger in someone else's head," Eames said into the silence, because nothing was lost without anything ventured, "but you made an exception for Magneto."

Xavier made a soft, non-committal _hmm_. The stack of papers in his hand became a leatherbound book, which he closed with a decisive thump. An embossed knot gleamed briefly on the cover before disappearing into the aged leather.

"I was very young then. Inexperienced. Something of a romantic, one might say." Xavier wheeled out from behind his desk, the book cradled on his lap. "I still am, but... I now know better what I can and should do. They're two very different things for a telepath, you see."

The words _especially for someone as powerful as I am_ dropped between them like a stone, sinking into Eames' thoughts.

"So it was deliberate."

"God, no." Xavier's expression remained serene, but a wry, self-depreciating sense of regret reverbated through the room. "Erik would've hated it. Perhaps deep down I wanted to, regardless. I was very much in love with him, Mr. Eames."

The flowers in the vase fluttered in a sudden breeze, and then they were in a library, with shelves upon shelves of books stretching toward unknown horizons. Eames straightened his shoulders from their instinctive, wary hunch. He hadn't felt this unnerved since the first time he dream-shared.

"That wasn't in Magneto's file," he noted, taking refuge in the impersonal banality of assessing his target.

Xavier raised an irritated eyebrow. "I imagine not. Few people remember we were once friends and comrades, and most of them now have little hope of that again."

He wheeled down a corridor between two bookcases, seemingly at random. Eames followed after him, studying the uncarpeted marble floor and the carvings that moved like living beings on the wooden panels of the shelves. A DNA sequence swam after a heraldic swan, over which a jagged tree's winter-bare branches burst into cherry blossoms. The room whispered with voices, too low to be intelligible.

Xavier stopped. The book floated up from his grasp, slotting neatly into a high shelf. Curious, Eames walked around him and ran the tips of his fingers -- slowly, giving time for Xavier to protest -- along the spines of the books. They felt warm to his touch.

"I should tell you we're no longer in a dream," Xavier said, then added graciously, "But if you like, we may return to your dream. I'm sure it's a very pleasing construct."


End file.
